


Wish Away The Hours

by lettalady



Series: WISH [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hydra (Marvel), Post-HYDRA Reveal, SHIELD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 19:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3781648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettalady/pseuds/lettalady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to Careful What You Wish For, picking up a few years after the events of that story to see what has become of our SHIELD agent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wish Away The Hours

You lean over Wallace’s shoulder and tap the computer screen that he is squinting at with your index finger. “Stu said when he sent in his report he saw blips?”

Wallace bristles, pulling his shoulders back and turning to push you away from the screen, “Probably nothing. Probably just old parts that…”

“Anything I need to check out?” You interrupt before he can get going on the subject.

He scoffs, “Well if _I_ can’t figure it out.”

You take a few steps back, falling into a relaxed stance. Wallace, the station’s one and only tech guru, can be prickly when provoked – but as you’ve come to discover, is ultimately harmless. His tendency to be defensive made perfect sense to you once Stuart explained what Wallace had been through at The Academy. It’s one of the reasons you purposefully avoid using a shortened version of his name. They’d called him Wall-E. Hounded him with the nickname until he graduated.

“Just an offer. No malfunction detected? I can always check the hubs.”

You’ve just submitted your monthly report so you don’t _technically_ need to walk the grounds again so soon but it is something to do. One can only unload, clean, and reload the minimal weapons they were provided _so many times_ before other distractions are needed.

No malfunction had been present this morning when you’d sent your always on time, always thorough report in to SHIELD headquarters – and it doesn’t look like there is anything amiss in your cursory glance at the console. _Why_ they have you completing the reports is a wonder. Every single one says the same damned thing.

No activity out here in this frozen tundra. Never was any activity. No real reason for the station to still be in use since they pulled Cap from the ice, taking whole chunks of the landscape with them when they left. Nope, no one left but the two agents – the count upped to three with your arrival. All three are still accounted for. No one has gone batty. Yet.

For you it has only been two years. Two years since the Battle of New York. Wallace and Stuart have been posted out here longer than that. You’ve yet to get particulars from either of them regarding what circumstance led them to their placement at the station. Stuart knows your story in broad strokes, the bits hammered out in plain text for his perusal in your medical file. Despite the camaraderie developed from mutual circumstance you’re yet to feel comfortable enough to expand upon the details he had been provided. Whatever you divulge is sure to end up in his monthly reports.

The reports. Oh the damned reports. You cover the condition of the station, Stuart the mental and physical health of those relegated here, and Wallace? You don’t discuss such things with him, save for a few passing remarks to let him know that you will include the state of the consoles – very much outdated – in your entries.

Maybe the reports are the brass’ way of making sure you don’t lose your mind out here. Or maybe it is their way of ensuring it.

Wallace just grunts and turns back to the slightly dated panel, back to fiddling within his domain. It’s your standard dismissal from him. Who knows what he sits there and does all day? Headquarters checks in annually and send in supplies they deem necessary. Past that once a year moment there are no incoming communications… and Wallace says hasn’t figured out how to get around the block on streaming entertainment. Or he has and isn’t sharing.

Not that you’d want to sit there with him and stare at the monitor all day. That is too reminiscent of before, of your job before your reassignment – a train of thought which naturally leads you to dwelling on the reason _why_.

Loki.

“What was that?” Wallace turns to look at you over his shoulder, his look accusatory.

Had you said that aloud? You didn’t think so… “Look. At the hubs. I’m going to go check the hubs, just in case.” You tap your radio, the older model thing clipped to your belt right over your pelvic bone, “I’ll be on channel 3.”

Wallace doesn’t watch you leave the room, turning back to his monitor and muttering to you as you leave to patrol the grounds, “There’s fuckall else out here. Just use open comms. What does it matter---“

“Channel 3!”

You weave your way through the perpetually chilly hallways towards the first of several hubs scattered at the perimeter of the station. It is something to do, though it doesn’t keep your mind from wandering. Involuntarily, you reach up to run your fingertips over the spot just above your left ear. There is no visible evidence of the encounter – no knot left from the blow, no scar because the skin had not been broken. You’ll always know the precise location of impact, regardless.

\--

"You're damn lucky he missed."

"He missed?" You reach up with the intention of indicating the knot on the side of your head, forgetting that your left arm is locked to the bed railing for the time being. They get the point, though. "Sure feels like he connected."

You frown at the still present cuffs. You're doing your best to understand that they're taking every precaution. They _still_ don't believe your story - though you've repeated it for so many people, so many times over. There's the footage to consider. But then that, like your story, is open to interpretation.

"Could've killed you."

You heave a sigh. Yes. Yes you are aware of the curious fact that you are still breathing, despite being caught completely off guard. Well - not completely. Loki had given you just enough warning to allow you to turn and see Barton bearing down on you.

\--

Thoughts of Agent Barton – Clint, as you’ve come to know him – prompt you to drop your hand to touch your inner jumpsuit pocket where his latest missive resides. After the dust had settled, action you had missed for being locked to a hospital bed and unconscious for part of it besides, Clint had come to visit. Guilt ridden and all too familiar with being manipulated by the God of Mischief, Clint had only been able to visit once before your reassignment had taken effect. He has maintained a dialogue with you, a new letter arriving every other month or so. New fashion trends and horrible food fads you are lucky to be missing… Evidence of time marching on. It isn’t much, just inane handwritten details about the goings on of the world beyond this frozen expanse, but it is helping to keep you sane.

Stuart and Wallace aren’t so bad, really. Particularly not when you consider you could be out here on your own, or with two complete asshats rather than one semi-antisocial technician who is slowly going bonkers from a lack of new and fun toys to play with, and a cook-slash-medic who makes the days bearable and meals light with conversation – even if the stories end up recycled and blended together as the months pass by.

No one else has kept in contact since your bani --- reassignment. Not old friends. Not ex-coworkers. Not even family. Your little brother that used to look up to you? Evidently he held the same opinions as the others. You’ve been cast out of all relevant circles to a place as remote as they could possibly manage. You might not have been fired, but _banishment_? Not good. So very not good.

You try not to think of it that way, try not to use the **B** word. It is just a reassignment, just temporary – and probably just as much for your own good as for the good of those around you… but really, what alternative is there?

Shaking yourself out of your self-induced melancholy, you turn your attention back to wandering through the corridors. You should be coming upon the first hub in a minute or two, just a few more turns. Right turn. Forty paces. Left. And then you see it – mounted to the floor as though it could be lifted and carried away through the impossibly tiny doorways. They must’ve assembled the various hubs in each of the rooms that housed them, no other way – unless they’d built the place around them.

Nothing appears out of place. No exposed wires. All the bits that are supposed to blink are doing just that. On to the next of the hubs. And then the next. For the fourth you have to leave these back corridors and take a quick jaunt in the cold. A leaking pipe had caused a retaining wall to collapse between hubs three and four – the event happening long before your arrival. It is a repair that is so low on the priority list for headquarters that you never really expect it to get done. But you log it dutifully. Every month. _Corridor 71 out of commission, alternate routes utilized_. You’ve even taken to storing a few large overcoats – leftovers from the station’s glory days wherein it housed more than three poor souls – at each of the checkpoint doors, so no one would have to walk into the freezing environment unprotected.

You pause before bundling up so you can check in on the radio. You don’t even bother with call signs, not for he-who-doesn’t-care-about-the-channel. “About to head out for hub four, Wallace.”

His response, where he sounds slightly out of breath, is delayed just long enough to make you pause to consider opening up to all channels on the radio. “Sorry. Bathroom. Yea. K. Fine.”

He _knows_ you have to exit the station when you walk to check the hubs. Now is not the time to… You pop the radio onto the ledge with a bit more force than necessary before shrugging into the heavy winter gear, muttering a few choice words about dear old Wally. Next time _he_ can walk out to check the hubs and _you’ll_ sit at the security console and watch for the perimeter alerts. You inhale sharply as you open the door and the biting cold greets you. Walking through the corridors wasn’t so bad for the protection the walls of the station afford you, but out in the open…

Fuck its cold.

The pathway is clear, though slick. You choose your footing carefully, knowing from experience that sometimes what looks safe _isn’t._ There isn’t much unprotected terrain to traverse between the two checkpoints but exposure is no joke. Stuart always insists that you pop in for a visit after every jaunt outside. Some days it is too cold to even attempt the trek outside – you’re stuck within the station, stuck taking the longer route during your inspections.

You don’t bother with a follow up to Wallace. He knows exactly how long it takes you to walk from doorway to doorway. And as he might say: _who the hell else would be entering codes and setting off the perimeter alarms_? Who the hell else, indeed.

Hub four looks to be in perfect working order, just like the previous three. You’ve shucked your overcoat and started on to hub five when Wallace’s voice crackles over the radio, “Hey – looks like the door didn’t fully reengage when you exited after hub three.”

You groan and radio back, “And you’re telling me this now?”

“I’m just saying, I’m getting a signal. And you’re closer.”

Yea – closer and already half frozen. The remaining hubs will have to wait. You reroute, keeping the radio off your belt as you retrace your steps. You check after walking back out into the cold, “Did _this_ door reengage?” You stamp your feet impatiently as you wait for his reply to crackle back.

“Yea. Yea. You’re good.”

You mutter as you walk back along the path with a bit more speed and a bit less care. You miss the sequence for the code for reentry on your first try but manage to do it properly the second time around. Once inside you shudder and wait to shuffle out of the jacket once more.

When Wallace radios you his voice echoes in the room, “Ok. No more signal. Door must’ve just stuck. Cold out there, after all.”

You bite back the temptation for a snide remark, making a mental note to check the external temperature when you get back and add it into your detailing of this little jaunt. “The hubs I’ve seen so far are fine. I’ll continue the sweep from the other direction. Long walk but…” Why are you explaining to him? He doesn’t care. Radio secured to your hip again you remove the overcoat and place it on its hook before backtracking down the corridors.

Out of habit you glance down each deserted hallway as you pass them by. Nobody is ever there. Wallace is always at his console, and you can usually find Stuart fiddling with experiments in the kitchen or medical bay. You’re almost back to the control room when you sense movement behind you. You pause for a cursory glance and have to do a double take.

Someone is there – striding towards you with a long, practiced gait.

This is something out of your daydreams that help pass the time, or the nightmares that wake you and leave you breathless. This is the result of being out in the cold too long, and thinking back to what got you assigned out here in the first place. You try to blink away what you’re seeing but the vision won’t fade.

But they included it in the yearly briefing, perhaps a special note added just for your benefit.

Loki was dead.

Loki _is_ dead.

And yet he’s ** _here_** , in this godforsaken station – dressed in a pair of dark, almost-black trousers and a striking green tunic, with a half-scarf half-cape draped asymmetrically across his shoulders. The entire ensemble might only net him a few curious glances if he were walking busy streets of a city rather than parading around a nearly abandoned installment in this frozen environment. If he wanted to blend in here he’d need a heavier winter jacket, at least.

Maybe the whispers were true, things overheard just before your reassignment. Maybe Loki had gotten into your head. Maybe you weren’t to be trusted. Maybe you were crazy.

“No.” You shake your head at the hallucination, draw, aim and fire.

POP. POP. POP.

If he’s not really there it’s just harmless target practice. Use of old ICERs in the hallway. Target practice. Easily explained away.

All three shots hit their target – not center mass but you’ll berate yourself on that later. He stops and scowls down at his shoulder where two of your three shots hit, marring the look of his tunic. He looks back up at you, tilting his head unapprovingly and the paleness of his skin starts to shift – noticeable at the topmost hem of his clothing, traveling over his collarbone and creeping up to envelop his features until he is entirely blue.

It’s then that you realize the problem.

You just used ICERs.

On a Jotun.

Of course they’re made for effectiveness against humans, even modified humans… The dendrotoxin’s effectiveness on him? Debatable. He appears little more than slightly phased. He certainly isn’t incapacitated.

Now what?

If he expects you to run just because he’s turned blue, _entirely blue_ , he’s got another thing coming. You stand your ground and let the silence extend. Would Wallace or Stuart have heard the shots? Perhaps. How extensive had their training been regarding incursions? Could they defend themselves? Did they even know where their service weapons were?

All these thoughts come in a rush as you stand there in the hallway staring at Loki. Shooting him again won’t do much good, not with these bullets, even if it might be mildly cathartic.

Loki makes a show of looking at the drab surrounding environment before looking back to you, at the weapon still pointed at him. “Well, you’re elsewhere.”

If he starts to use mind games again you just might shoot yourself with one of your ICERs. But no, then he’d be loose to wreak havoc upon Wallace and Stuart. You’re here to protect them. You’re all the tactical support this compound has at the moment. If you can get to the security console and press the red button that Wallace has adorned with a slightly askew sticker then a warning beacon will be sent to headquarters. How fast can they scramble?

“Not Paris.” You feel a little thrill when your retort nets you a smile from him. Immediately on the heels of the thrill you feel annoyance. **_He’s_** _the reason you’re **here**_ **.** Maybe you _should_ shoot him again, wipe that grin off his face.

“No. Not even remotely.”

You need to find out why he’s here. And why the hell his brother, and everyone else besides, thinks he’s dead when he’s clearly not. But is standing here talking to him wise? Couple past experience with the fact that a simple smile drawn from him makes you want to take a step _towards_ him, you force yourself to do the exact opposite and ever so slowly inch your lead foot back before shifting your weight.

Last time you’d had the benefit of security glass between the pair of you and still that had ended badly. You can achieve that same scenario, hopefully with a different ending, if you manage to make it the last twenty yards to the control room. The locks on that security door may be old but they still function. You don’t test them every month for the good of your health.

Well…

“You survived.”

He seems almost surprised? Happy? No – don’t try to project desired emotions on someone incapable of feeling anything but contempt for humanity.  

You half-shrug, careful to maintain your aim. “Was in medical, or solitary, until well after what went down in New York. They couldn’t figure out why I stayed out of it for so long. Insisted that it wasn’t the blow but something tied to when you knelt down. That you _did_ something.”

They’d made you watch the security footage over and over again before deciding that there wasn’t anything more you could tell them in explanation. Of course at that point the loop of the feed had been memorized, internalized for your viewing pleasure every time you closed your eyes.

Barton’s appearance in the helicarrier chamber, his approach – something you _surely_ noticed, they had scoffed. But no, you’d been preoccupied – too focused on the being locked within the cell. Or your peripheral vision had been blocked, manipulated by the God that after gaining his freedom had stooped down over your unconscious body for a moment, his actions shielded from view of the camera.

What had he done when he knelt down? What had he done? You didn’t _know_. Asking one time, or twenty, didn’t change that fact.

Whatever had happened – a check of your pulse – a few whispered words to weave a spell and keep you unconscious – whatever he did it only took a moment and then Loki had righted himself once more and turned his attention to the security panel that controlled the cell he recently vacated. Barton had then unceremoniously hoisted you over his shoulder to clear the scaffolding of debris – meaning you – and set the stage for what was to come.

You’d heard the rest of what had happened, later, and have battled the guilt associated with it ever since. Thor – tricked into the cell to be sent spinning down to the Earth below. Agent Coulson – killed.

Things you should have tried to prevent, could have tried to prevent, if you hadn’t walked away from your station to tangle yourself into the web of lies spun by the God standing before you.

“Which naturally resulted in being removed from duty. Reassigned. Shipped out here.” You take a more obvious step back as he takes a step forward, rocking his weight fluidly from heel to toe. You match his movements step for step, not allowing him closer to you despite once again going against every suggested plan of action and opening a dialogue with him.

To be fair, you’d shot him first. Even if you’d seen little effect, that had to count for something.

“So desperate to prove yourself. So driven. And despite being elsewhere, you’re still confined. Still left to pace, and watch, and wait. A poor reward for a faithful heart.” Perhaps because it didn’t net a reaction from you Loki starts to shift his skin tone back to better disguise his form, shifting from the vivid blue of a Jotun until he more closely resembles human once more.

You’re trying to keep from making the same mistakes. _Remain aware. Try not to let him trick you once more._ But there are still so many steps until you’ll be able to turn and engage the control room door. Once in the control room you’ll be able to lock down the station, call for backup – and be able to breathe a little easier knowing a lock will once again be between you and this trickster.

“Faithful.” It’s a curious word choice from him – one that makes you huff out a laugh as you respond. He who had turned his back on his family and openly declared war on his brother, brought hell down upon another realm in an apparently ill-thought-out attempt to rule it? It certainly isn’t a word that should apply to you, at any rate. “I abandoned my post. For curiosity.”

Clamping your mouth shut for a moment, you grit your teeth against your words. _Curiosity_. Maybe he’ll mistake it for an attempt at stroking his ego versus an admission of how much power he holds over you. From the way he’s smiling at you right now it is a foolish thing to hope for. He knows the truth to your statement.

“I disobeyed orders that day. They could have done worse than sending me here.” You’ve thought about it since all you have around this place is time. What could be worse than this assignment? No assignment. SHIELD dropping you unceremoniously back into the world – as a _civilian_. Scrubbing your records, cleaning your resume of your years of service and acquired skills, and all but ensuring you ended up in a job worse that what you used to do before you joined. Thankfully they hadn’t gone that route.

“And whose orders do you follow now?”

Not _his_. That’s for damned sure. You bristle, “Why are you here, Loki?”

He shakes his head in a slow side-to-side motion, admonishing you in that low, growled tone you can’t forget as he continues his approach. “Still blindly loyal. Even when they set you here among wolves.”

You’re still not close enough to the control room to make a dash for it, and you don’t want to turn this into a game of chase. Maybe in a few more steps… Running, while it may buy you time in certain scenarios, only forces the roles of predator and prey. You are most certainly not his prey.

“We _don’t_ have wolves here. It’s too fucking cold. And if we did,” you dip your hands slightly to pull his gaze to the weapon you still have trained on him, “I’d take care of it.”

When he flicks his eyes back up to meet yours and smiles you feel that little thrill again. He’s not afraid of you or your weapon. Of course, why would he be when the ICERs hardly slow him? No, he’s not afraid… If you’re reading him right, he’s _pleased_. Boasting to him, trying to impress him, is part of what got you into trouble last time and here you are making the same mistakes again.

“Oh, but you do. You do and you don’t even see it. They’ve adapted. Learned the best place to hide is up close where you aren’t keeping watch. Upon finding that blind-spot they were able to amass. To sit and study your weaknesses. And now they are ready, waiting for the signal to pounce. And that signal is coming _today_.”

It’s lunacy and still his words are making your skin crawl, chasing away the thrill you’d felt only moment prior. You shake your head at him, forgetting your promise to yourself not to believe a word out of his mouth. Wolves and signals and blind-spots. His metaphor is tipping into something more akin to a threat. What a shame that he won’t be able to lead whatever _wolves_ he’s amassed, because here in a few seconds he’ll be locked inside this compound, just as soon as you can reach the doors to the control room… All it will take is a few second head start.

“No, what I see happening today is a God getting shot again.”

And then you unload the remaining ICERs into his torso. Three into his shoulder had caused him to pause his steps. Surely the rest will give you just enough time to make it to safety.

It doesn’t slow him down nearly as much as you would have hoped, but you do manage to enter the override to lock the control room door and initiate a lockdown of the entire station before he reaches the threshold. Loki glares at you, slamming his fist on the locked door to emphasize his words. “You’re making this _difficult_ , agent.”

Making it difficult for him to lead another attack on your world? **Good**. A dull THUNK echoes from the force of his blow and you pause to wonder if he just made an indentation in the aging metal. Now that’s something that might impress Stuart and Wallace, both. Speaking of which – Wallace isn’t at his station. Gone to the bathroom again? Maybe you need to make a note for Stuart to give him a thorough exam after all of this is over. You’ll radio the two after pressing the so-in-need-of-being-pressed red button on the security console.

The moment you turn away from the door Loki lands another heavy blow, this time with a single stern command, “ _Don’t._ ”

“I don’t answer to you,” you mutter in response. It just takes a few steps and then you reach the console, finally able to press the button with the slightly askew sticker. If Wallace’s idea of a joke renders the button immobile you’ll kill him – but it moves under your thumb when you press down, and then illuminates.

There. Help is on the way.

Loki is still leaning against the door when you look up from the console, triumphant. From this angle you can better see the damage you’ve done to him and his tunic, holes in the material proof of your marksmanship, and yet still he’s continuing on like you didn’t empty your entire clip. The points of impact are slightly rosy, but that isn’t what catches your attention. There’s a scar, just at the bottom edge of the tear in his tunic, something close to his sternum. What had caused that?

He adjusts his stance, taking a step back and clasping his hands before him, the action shifting his clothing to hide the exposed skin. It’s a matter of presentation – who would you be more inclined to listen to? The panting manic occasionally beating against the barrier between the pair of you – or the self-assured God?

His frustration is still evident but he is tempering it, or trying to, as he delivers his warning. “The ones responding to that alarm, when they arrive they will not be here to help you.”

Yet another something that to you sounds more like a threat, but he’s not _lying_. When headquarters scrambles a team out to your location they won’t be here to give you praise, or issue apologies for doubting you and your motives regarding the brother of Thor. They’ll be here to contain Loki – and then, most likely, be on their way again – back to the world beyond this frozen tundra. You’ll be left to – what – file yet another report?

You internally give yourself a shake. You’re _not_ taking Loki’s word for gospel. He is a practiced manipulator with only his best interests at heart.

When you unclip your radio from your belt Loki sighs, “Stop making it worse. Put the radio down.”

“Wallace. We’ve got a situation. Where are you?” You’ll focus on finding your tech first – then alert Stuart as to what is going on.

Wallace responds quickly. From the sounds of it he is in motion, wherever he is. “Where do you think? Saw the alert, on my way. What’s the problem? See any fried wires on the hub?”

You blink and scowl at the radio before twisting to peer at the security console. You don’t like removing Loki from your peripheral vision but it is a necessity if you’re going to confirm what Wallace is saying.

Nothing appears amiss – other than the lovely red beacon that you activated. Wallace is on his way _where_ , exactly? There are no alerts – nothing indicating problems with any of the hubs. Why is Wallace still focused on the hubs? Focused on a task you abandoned the moment the God appeared in the deserted hallways of the station.

“No – Wallace. I’m not...”

You release the call button on your radio when Loki raps sharply on the glass pane of the door. He gives his head a hard shake when you meet his gaze. “ _Don’t_ tell him where you are.”

Another demand from the very damned reason you’re out here. “Why not?” You ask, intending only to scoff internally at his request, but voicing it instead.

He lifts one of his eyebrows ever so slightly, as though the answer is painfully obvious. “Wolf.”

You can’t help but let out a light laugh. Wallace? The station’s tech is the most non-threatening person at the base, unless he’s on a bend about the painfully out-of-date consoles he’s trying to keep in working order. Wallace – who is prattling on about the hubs, about fixing an error you can’t see.

“Still have a few spare wires from where we salvaged what we could from the coms in the unused quarters. If it is the circuit boards… _This_ is what happens when they refuse to send even…  So desperate I asked for _damaged_ parts the last **_five_** reports I sent in. But no. Never a priority.” You press and hold your radio so he’ll hear a squeal – and hopefully will stall out on the rant that is starting up. It works, though it cuts into his next sentence. “– where are you?”

Loki keeps shaking his head. You ignore him. “I’m not out at the hubs, Wallace. Forget the hubs. There’s nothing wrong with the hubs. Wherever you are, reroute. Go to medical and tell Stuart that we’ve got a situation. But I’m handling it.” You grace Loki with a glare, hoping it is half the strength of the ones he manages to conjure. You start to explain and then the hint of doubt makes you alter your words mid-sentence, because though you’re loathe to admit it – Loki’s words have you rattled. “We’ll be on lockdown until – just let me know when you reach medical.”  

“Situation?”

You stand there glaring at Loki while you think. Wallace hadn’t shown the slightest bit of interest in going to inspect the hubs earlier. Or walking out to check the perimeter door when that alert had activated. Claimed it had activated… It would be easy enough to verify – take a minute to tap out a few keystrokes at the console and look at the records – but it meant turning your back fully on this surprise guest you’ve got trapped within the station with you. That minute or so unsupervised could be all the time Loki needs to gain the upper hand, and once again leave you to try to explain away what had happened.

But Loki hasn’t made a move against you thus far. How long had he been following you in the hallways before you noticed? He certainly could have attacked when you were off your guard – taken you out before you were even aware he was there… which brings you back around to your original question: why the hell is he here? If you take him at his word – something part of you rails against with extreme prejudice – he’s here to warn you against a threat. Something about you being set among wolves. Why does he care?

Despite his trickery in your last encounter, despite all the warnings handed down in briefings in the past, and the initial absurdity you felt at the notion, you’re starting to lend a weight to his warnings. And now he’s warning you against Wallace.

This makes the second time Wallace has abandoned his console while you were out inspecting the hubs… Unless he had wandered away from the control room the first time and never truly returned. You’d just taken him at his word that the perimeter door alert was going off. No way to verify that while on the move.

You can’t easily rationalize a reason why Wallace is suddenly so eager to lend a hand with the hubs. Unless there was a specific repair that absolutely **had** to be made, one that you couldn’t handle, Wallace lived in the control room. Failing that, there were unfailingly two other places in the station you could find him: in his quarters, or in the canteen – usually coinciding with days Stuart cooked something. Leftovers could last – freshly made meals were never passed up.

So where is Wallace within the station? If he was out near the hubs as he claimed he should have noticed the fact that lockdown measures were implemented. You glance down, studying the radio in your hand, analyzing the nooks and grooves of the speaker. If he didn’t notice the lockdown going into effect it meant he was in the corridors where most of the doors were either already shut or out of commission. Somewhere…

“Hey? Situation? Lockdown?”

You’re about to ask how close he is to medical, to finding out if Stuart is blissfully unaware of everything – totally consumed by another fun and seemingly pointless experiment – when you hear the buzz of an invalid code attempt following Wallace’s words. The sound makes your chest tighten. There’s only one place that remains locked at all times.

Wallace is trying to get into the weapons depot.

Loki’s laugh draws your focus up from the radio that you’re staring at in disbelief, a smug look of satisfaction on his face. “Like I said. Wolf. Now let me in, I can help you.”

Last time he’d wanted out of the cage that held him. Now he wants in. Your answer before was the same as the one you’re inclined to give him now: “No.”

How would that look? If when the team arrives from headquarters you’re standing with Loki against one of your own? Damning doesn’t begin to cover it. Then SHIELD wouldn’t hesitate in dropping you back into the world without a single thing to show for your years of service.

When you reply to Wallace over the radio you falter your words slightly as you try to figure out the best plan of action. Keep Loki locked up, that’s a certainty, but what to do about your new concerns over Wallace? Play dumb – at least until backup arrives? Maybe include it in the write-up that will come after this incident? “Just um – just let me know when you get to medical.”

“Alright. Yea. Medical. I’m on my way.”

You breathe out, hearing the sounds of movement behind Wallace’s reply. Of course now there’s the problem that you’re sending a potential traitor straight at your only other ally in the station at the moment. Is there a way to warn Stuart without tipping off Wallace?

Again you hear Loki rapping his knuckles on the pane of glass in the door that stands between the pair of you, followed closely by a low demand. “Let me in.”

“Not gonna happen.”

How can you warn Stuart? If he had a radio on, if he was on the right frequency, he would already know. He doesn’t usually keep his on – particularly if he’s fiddling with an experiment to pass the time. There’s always the chance that he’s finishing up, about to head to the canteen, in which case he might have the radio on but on the wrong channel. It would take too long to sit there and flick between each – so switching to broadcast over all channels is your only option… which is the very suggestion made by Wallace before all of this got started. You hesitate with your fingers gripping the dial.

“Stalling is making it worse. If you’d only let me help—”

You cut Loki off, “I’m not letting you in. Stop asking.”

The instant you twist the dial to open your radio up to all frequencies you hear chatter: Wallace, talking fast.

“—problem. **_I told you_** she would be trouble. The day she got here **_I told you_**. No, Wallace – you said – she’s had it rough, too. She’ll be on our side when the time comes, if she isn’t already. But – _fuck_ – she’s initiated a lockdown which means she’s in the control room and I don’t like her in there. She was supposed to stay out checking the hubs. I should have just locked her out. Let her freeze out there. **I told you** she was still – how the hell did she find out? It didn’t come through until _after_ she sent in her report!”

You lift your eyes from the radio to look at Loki, not bothering to hide your look of shock. Wallace wanted to let you freeze to death outside? Loki was right. How had he known? What the hell is going on? Wallace is freaking out because you initiated a lockdown of the station, but doesn’t seem aware of Loki’s presence. Which means – what? What had you interrupted? What signal is he talking about? And –

Panicking isn’t productive. You blink, set your mouth in a firm line, and turn your attention back to the radio to try to figure out which channel you’re currently overhearing. Not channel 3 – that was where you’d started. But as you flick through the frequencies to try to narrow it down it seems that all chatter has stopped.

You’re just about ready to throw the radio across the room in frustration when you hear Stuart’s voice crackle over the line on channel 7. “I’d ask who is ready for lunch but – anybody want to tell me why all the corridor doors that still function are closing?”

Oh thank God. Stuart isn’t in medical – doomed to have a confrontation with an unhinged Wallace – but in the canteen prepping a meal.

“Please don’t fall for that. He’s HYDRA. They both are.”

No. You glare at Loki – refusing to let his sighed words steal away the last of your hope. Stuart has kept you sane out here. You’ll not let this trickster turn you against both members of your team in a matter of minutes, with nothing more than fear and ghost stories. HYDRA is defunct. A non-threat. Wallace has just – lost his mind. Too many years of disappointment in this frozen bit of hell.

As it stands you’ll have a lot of explaining to do. Countless hours of repetitive questions, just like before. But if when the team from SHIELD headquarters arrives you’ve got not just Loki but both members of your team locked up, one of them raving…

You’ve got to tread carefully.

“Situation. Stuart are you still in the kitchen?”

You glance over to the security console. Easy enough to tap out a few codes and lock the door to the canteen. Locking Stuart in would be for his own safety, more to keep Wallace out than keep Stuart in. That makes sense… right?

“No. On the move the moment I saw the doors closing. What sort of situation has set off this lockdown? Don’t tell me, you wandered down the wrong hall and potentially contracted a contagion. Snagged my spare med kit, just in case.”

So you came into contact with a questionable mold one time– part of the reason you always include Corridor 71’s status in your reports – but exploring each hallway is part of your job. Keeping the three of you safe. You can’t claim you’ve done your job if you don’t at least _try_ to go down every hallway, visit every room.

You find yourself smiling at the memory, and then hear Loki tut: “Perhaps a pleasant distraction, but it is just that.”

And he’s right. Again. But Loki should be enjoying your distraction, encouraging it. He should be trying to take advantage of it just as he had two years ago – not trying to help you see through the efforts of others. It’s maddening that you can’t figure out Loki’s motives.

Better to focus on and neutralize one threat at a time. Loki is trapped behind metal and glass for the moment. With Wallace – hopefully – in route to medical, it’s Stuart you need to worry about. It is your knowledge of a man you’ve known for two years against Loki’s claims. Even with your growing uncertainty, you still owe Stuart the benefit of the doubt. “It wasn’t mold I found in a corridor this time, Stuart. But – I guess it depends on your definition of contagion. Is madness catching?”

Are you referring to Wallace, Loki, or yourself? You’re pretty sure of your own sanity. You don’t dare lift your head to dart your eyes at the man standing on the other side of the glass. You can feel his cold stare burning into the side of your face, a physical pressure digging into your skin.

Wallace. You’re referring to Wallace and his rapid-fire babble that had come through the radio speaker. “I hope you have some sort of sedative in that bag of yours. I think. I think Wallace has…”

Your radio starts to squawk, a sound that makes you flinch and twist while holding the thing as far away from yourself as you can before silencing it entirely. No more communication that way, it seems.

When Loki speaks, breaking the silence, you jump. “And now we need to leave.”

“This place is on lockdown.” The station is locked up tight – and he said _we._ You’ve done nothing but counter him every chance you’ve gotten and still he’s trying to help you? What game is he playing?

He sighs, unclasping his hands and leaning forward against the glass, “They’re coming for you because you’re standing in their way. Do you want to come with me, or not?”

You’re not even sure where to begin in your argument against what he is suggesting. With the radio off the hum of the security console itself is the only thing heard in concert with your words, “Wallace is just – I’ve lived with these guys for two years.”

“And that means you _know_ them? You know every motivation?” He chides you sternly, “You only know what you’ve seen, the surface and what little you’ve glimpsed of what lies underneath. But I’ve been watching. More than the secret actions of your two companions here. It goes beyond the walls of this station. HYDRA is coming. For you, my SHIELD loyalist.”

“HYDRA doesn’t exist. Not anymore.”

“You’re _sure_ of that.”

Yes. Mostly. There’s always some sort of threat to focus on – someone or some group that wants to try… Loki’s words from earlier ring in your ears. ‘ _They’re hiding up close where you aren’t keeping watch. Upon finding that blind-spot they were able to amass. To sit and study your weaknesses. And now they are ready, waiting for the signal to pounce._ ’

A signal he claims is coming today. Has already come, if you believe his accusations concerning Wallace, and the ramblings you’d heard from Wallace over your radio.

“Someone needs to warn headquarters.” You whisper, glancing at the silent radio you’ve got clutched in your hand before turning away from where you’d been standing opposite Loki. The emergency beacon on the console is still lit – but waiting to alert the arriving team, hopefully a SHIELD team and not HYDRA as Loki claims, about a threat might be too little too late.

It might already be too late. Wallace had claimed the signal came through after you sent in your report this morning. You enter a sequence, then another, but no change occurs over the monitors. No response from headquarters comes through.

If HYDRA does still exist – these hidden individuals are already activating.

You turn on your heel to face Loki again, abandoning your useless radio on the console. He doesn’t bat an eye at the fury and frustration rolling off you. “Why didn’t you go to someone else? To someone higher up? Why not go to the Director? To someone who could actually _do_ _something_?”

“She starts to believe.”

If your weapon wasn’t sitting empty on your hip, a wall between the pair of you, you just might shoot that satisfied smirk off his face.

Loki dips his head, the small smile falling from his lips in response to your angered expression. “The seeds of distrust have been so thoroughly spread by the organization you were until a few moments ago _so_ _very sure_ was defunct that my warnings would have fallen on deaf ears.”

“So you leave them to be blindsided? You stay hidden wherever the fuck you’ve been _observing_ from – content to sitting back to watch the unfolding chaos.”

He shifts on his feet, leaning towards the barrier before him as he replies to your snarled accusations, “The petty quarrels of man are not my concern.”  

And chaos is his forte. Chaos and mischief and causing inordinate amounts of trouble. You long for what your life had been prior to that day two years ago when you glanced up from your monitors to see him being led into your domain – before his words, his laugh, his face started to haunt you.

“Of course not.” You shake your head, waving your now empty hands at him. “Loki. God. Fallen prince. So clearly superior. No one asked you to –”

Your rant is cut short by a surprised exclamation. “Loki?!”

Stuart has found his way to the control room. Now there is someone standing at each access point to the room: Loki stands framed in the doorway of the main entrance, Stuart only partially visible via the half-window of the backdoor to the room. If Stuart hadn’t been surprised by Loki’s being there would he have announced his presence?

Loki abandons the argument with you in favor of renewing his request to gain admittance, words you choose to ignore, focusing instead on Stuart. You’re now caught between two men you’re not sure you can trust.

One thing lies in your favor – when you locked Loki out you issued an override for all passcodes. It is a fact Stuart figures out quickly. You hear the buzz of his failed attempt at his code, and catch his scowl as he moves about to try to get a better view through the windowpane. “You weren’t kidding that we have a situation. You’ve – locked him – everyone – out. Called for backup?” He adjusts and looks pointedly at the security console, at the illuminated emergency beacon that stands out against the rest of the console, and nods. “Just like protocol dictates. Any response?”

You twitch, trying to cover the action with a swift shake of your head in the negative. _Just like protocol dictates._ It may be paranoia, but his use of that phrase doesn’t help alieve your worries. You wish you could see more of what he was doing on the other side of that door. He keeps shifting his stance, and you can’t see his hands. Will he stop with just one attempt to gain entrance? The back of your neck is starting to itch – not only from Loki’s stare but from the feeling that you’re just about to have your world shift on its axis again, just like two years ago.

You take a few uncertain steps towards Stuart to try to see if the hallway is otherwise unoccupied. That would be a nasty surprise – to find Wallace standing right there beside him… though it would provide the needed proof to back Loki’s claims.

“I’ve – I’ve got things under control. Loki isn’t going anywhere until the team from headquarters arrives. You should go find Wallace. I’m – worried about him.”

Stuart blinks at you, “I’m worried about you.” He flicks his eyes to Loki for a second. You still can’t see his damn hands. “ _He_ didn’t get the jump on you, did he? Like last time? Let me in to examine you and then we can go find Wallace together.”

In the background you can hear Loki telling you why you should back away – that you should stop your advance towards Stuart, once again reminding you that you shouldn’t trust the good doctor. You keep your eyes trained on Stuart, on his half-hidden motions. “No. He didn’t _get the jump_ on me. That’s why I’m in here and he’s out there with holes in his shirt.”

There. You catch a glimpse of something in Stuart’s hand as he shifts again, but the moment doesn’t last long enough for you to figure out what it is that he’s holding. The strap to his med bag? No, the red handle of the bag is easily identifiable.

What had it been? Something small. Something slender. Your brain offers up a suggestion that makes your mouth go dry. Before the radio went out you suggested he obtain a sedative for use on Wallace.You can’t refute the thought. Moreover the more you focus in your mind on the moment his hands had been visible, the more you’re certain of the shape of the thing he’s holding. What you’d seen was a syringe – and he means to use the contents on you.

The second buzz from his side of the room, indication of another failed attempt at entry, makes you drop your lead foot back and put your hand to your hip. Your weapon may be empty but Stuart doesn’t need to know that. You very seriously doubt he can count how many marks are on Loki’s torso from his current vantage point.

“Still intent on staying put?”

You ignore Loki’s quip and the urge to tell him where he can shove it. What else is in this room with you that you can use to defend yourself? Stuart is trained in combat, you remember seeing that in his file. And you’ve got the sedative-filled syringe to worry about. If he really is HYDRA – if he’s decided that you’re of no use to him, or that you’ll stand defiant against whatever goal he and Wallace have – then there’s no guarantee he’ll use a small enough dose to simply knock you out.

How long ago had you set off the emergency beacon? How long until backup arrives? Assuming someone is coming to your aid. It depends on just how strong HYDRA has grown in the years everyone has been focused elsewhere.

Another noise comes from Stuart’s side of the room, one that halts your internal list of questions: the sound of a code being accepted and the lock to his door disengaging. As he steps inside he gives you a half shrug and emits a short chuckle, “What do you know – Wallace’s hacks finally come in handy.”

You glance at the syringe in his hand, careful not to let him close the distance between you… But there’s only so much floor space available. “What the hell, Stu.”

“Look, I gave you time to come around. Two years’ worth. Thought maybe at first they’d been stupid enough to assign not just two HYDRA moles to one station but _three_. But, well. Your loyalty is admired, even if it won’t be rewarded.” Stuart swivels to motion with the syringe to Loki, smiling as he looks back at you, “He’s thrown a wrench in the plans for the day – but they might forgive the delay when they learn he’s here.”

He must know by the look on your face that your weapon is empty when you draw it. The motion doesn’t make him pause his advance. Or maybe he just doesn’t credit you with the ability to pull the trigger on a fellow agent. _Ex_ -fellow agent. You try to keep him talking as he gains on you. You’re running out of floor space, and time, fast. “What? No last chance offer? Join HYDRA or die?”

“Mmm. You wouldn’t accept. Plus I’ve already got the syringe. So, no point really.”

Backtrack any further and you’ll be back against the console with no room to maneuver. If you’re going to make a stand the time is now. “I was assigned here to protect you, Stuart. Don’t make me use my training against you.”

He laughs and lunges, and you move to counter his incoming blow. He has momentum playing to his advantage, driving the pair of you back towards the console, but you can use his size against him. You get a grip on his arm just above his wrist, keeping the syringe wielded in his hand from making contact for a moment, and then you don’t. You expect the next thing to come will be the jab of the needle, the pressure and sting of fluid being forced beneath your skin… but instead are graced with a view of Stuart being flung backwards across the room and into the far wall.

Loki. Loki is in the room with you – defending you – currently walking over to check on Stuart’s condition.

As you right yourself, glancing first at the open door that had previously barred his admittance, then watching closely as Loki kneels and checks Stuart’s vitals, you mutter. “Could you have gotten in any time you wanted?”

He nods at his handiwork, wiping his fingers on his tunic as he stands, “Not dead, unless you wish him to be.” He turns back and waits until you shake your head, then he allows himself the slightest of smiles. He has just saved your life and is enjoying the hell out of it. “A simple _thank you_ wouldn’t be remiss.”

You repeat your question with a bit more emphasis. “Could. You. Have. Gotten. In. Any. Time. You. Wanted?”

Loki exhales, taking his time as he blinks and then answers you. “After he entered the code all it took was a flick of the wrist.” He turns his wrist as example and then extends his hand to you, “Now – we should be going.”

“Are you mad?”

He curls his fingers inward towards his palm and lowers his hand. “You’re trying my patience.”

“Wallace is still around here, somewhere. And there’s the threat that HYDRA poses. I can’t just leave. I have a job to do.”

The security console starts emitting a squealed alert – various buttons and warning lights flashing at random increments. Perimeter alerts. Help is arriving! At least, you hope it is help, and not the other thing. _Wolves –_ HYDRA descending on the station to claim it as their own. That’s something you can’t allow to happen.

“What are you going to do? You. Here. I told you before, it goes beyond the events at this station.”

You give Loki a onceover as you gather your nerve. You’ll head to the weapons depot and then… well… “Are you offering to help?” Your eyes linger on the rip in his tunic, the damage you’d done to his clothing… and the long scar on the exposed skin beneath.

“I’m offering you a chance to survive this uprising, by my side. _Elsewhere_.”

The scar is all that remains of a wound to his torso, probably delivered in a battle long ago. For an insane moment you wonder if, upon asking, he might tell you that tale – the first among many. Might he relay his long history to you, in this _elsewhere_ he always speaks of? You drag your eyes away from his scar and back up to his face.

The wolves he warned you about are descending and you’re dreaming of Loki’s _elsewhere_. They were right to reassign you. These are not the thoughts of a SHIELD agent.

The choice is yours to make. If you choose to go with him you’ll have to live with the guilt – knowing that something might have turned out differently if you had acted in those precious early hours of the conflict. If you had just stayed, dealt with Wallace, continued to try to reach out to headquarters.

The chance that you could have any small impact is all that you need to help you make your decision. You can’t. You can’t leave. You are an agent of SHIELD and HYDRA is back – back and breaching the station, if Stuart and Loki’s claims are to be believed. You blink up at him, this God standing before you – you do believe him. Every word.

You shake yourself. You’re wasting time. How many have already died while you have selfishly considered his offer? And will he just vanish when you tell him – observe from afar as you face the consequences of your decision?

“And if I choose to survive it _here_?” You study his features, trying to catch a glimpse of compassion, or conscience, beneath the mask he wears.

The look he’s giving you betrays his doubt in your ability to survive the encounter and his unwillingness to interfere in the unfolding mess. It was foolish to even assume that he could be coaxed into meddling with human affairs – even taking into consideration his curious preoccupation with you. He has apparently already made his peace with your fleeting lifespan, as compared to his own.

“Then stay. Stay and fight off the wolves.” Loki takes a step closer, moving within your personal space just for a moment before spinning to react to something you hadn’t noticed for focusing on his proximity. “Barton!” He barks, swiping aside the arrow that had been aimed at his upper torso.

Clint has already strung the next arrow, not slowing his pace as he breaches the control room. You jump into motion, holding out your hands to stay his shot. “It’s – Clint! It’s not what it looks like!”

“What? What the hell?” Clint has already surveyed the room to analyze for threats but continues to look between Stuart, Loki, and you in turn. “He’s – dead. Loki is… dead. What the hell is he doing here?”

Loki keeps trying to step further away from you, forcing you to adjust how you are standing while you are trying to approach Clint. How can you explain? “I know. I know, but clearly, he isn’t.”

“Not for lack of you trying. Either of you.” He flicks his eyes to you when you glance over your shoulder to give him a sour look to tell him to _shut up_. “Shooting me upon first sight. And you wondered why I didn’t go elsewhere to deliver my warning.”

“Warning?” Clint asks, drawing your focus back to the man who still has his bow taut.

You keep your hands held aloft. Clint has always had faith in you, maintained a connection with you while others had abandoned you. Despite what he is seeing right now he is still willing to hear you out. For whatever reason… you’re immensely grateful. “HYDRA. HYDRA is back, Clint. Stuart here – and my tech, who is somewhere within the station – are loyal to HYDRA. Loki found them out, somehow. And they got some signal today. They’re activating. You need to warn the others. We need to…”

“And you believe _him_?” Clint still isn’t completely on board, still looking past your shoulder at Loki with skepticism, but he has slackened his hold on his weapon ever so slightly. Just enough to give you hope.

Without even a pause for breath, you nod. “Yes. I do.”


End file.
